f that exaltation was to
be the cross. News that made men tremble came before the end of
February. The Lady Elizabeth had been summoned to Court--was it for
life or death?--and Bishop Bonner had issued a commission of inquiry
concerning all in his diocese, with orders to present all persons who
had failed to frequent auricular confession and the mass. Many fell
away in this time of temptation--Sir William Cecil (afterwards Lord
Burleigh) and his wife Mildred, amongst others. The Duchess of Suffolk
held on her way unwavering. Annis Holland's second letter, which had
been delayed, reached Isoult Avery in the beginning of March.

"Unto my right entirely beloved friend, Mistress Avery, that dwelleth at
the sign of the Lamb, in the Minories, next without Aldgate, beside
London, be these delivered.

"My Very well beloved Isoult,--My most hearty and loving commendations
remembered unto thee. Sithence my last writing have I made a most
woeful discovery, the which I would almost I had not done. But thou
shalt know the same.

"An even of late, I was alone in my chamber sewing, having sent Maria
forth to buy certain gear I lacked. And being so alone, I began to sing
lowly that hymn of Saint Bernard--`Hic breve vivitur, hic breve
plangitur,' [Note 1] when of a sudden I was aroused from my singing by a
sound like a groaning, and that very near. I hearkened, and heard it
again. One was surely moaning in the next chamber. Thinking that one
of the bower-women might be evil at ease and lack one to help her, I
crept forth from my chamber, and, listening at the door of the next,
heard plainly the moaning again. I laid mine hand on the latch, and
entered.

"It was a large chamber, airy, but not light. All the windows were high
up in the wall. There was a bed, divers chairs, and a table; and by the
table sat a woman apparelled in black, her arms laid thereon, and her
head upon them. Her face showed much pain. She lifted her head slowly
as I came towards her, and then I saw that she had the face of a
stranger. `Who is it?' she said in a whispered voice. `My name,
Senora, is Ines de Olanda,' said I. `Meseemeth you lack ease. Could I
in any wise bring it unto you?' `Ay, I lack ease, _muchacha_' (which is
to say, maiden), quoth she. `I lack rest. But that lieth in--the
grave.' She spake slowly and uncertainly. `Whence comest thou?' she
said again. `Thy tone is not of these parts.'--`Senora,' said I, `I am
a strang